


local amputee meets nonlocal raccoon with a passion for stealing fake limbs

by TheImpalaClub



Series: amputee Peter Parker is an amazing thing [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Board Games, Domestic Fluff, I Am Groot (Marvel), Maybe - Freeform, Post Infinity War?, Prosthetics, Rocket Raccoon's Prosthetic Limb Addiction, Whipped Cream, amputee peter, just go with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11893788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImpalaClub/pseuds/TheImpalaClub
Summary: Peter just wants to get to his internship. And Rocket certainly isn't making that easy.set post Infinity War but no one dies everyone's just living together playing Chutes and Ladders and throwing whipped cream at each other it's a good life





	local amputee meets nonlocal raccoon with a passion for stealing fake limbs

**Author's Note:**

> me, sitting in the dark, in my room, surrounded by amputee Peter Parker stories I wrote and art I made my friends draw: nah man I'm not even that into this au it's nothing really
> 
>  
> 
> enjoy because I certainly did lol

Peter cracked his eyes open, wincing at the light streaming in from the window in his Avengers complex room. He’d meant to go back to Aunt May’s apartment, but they’d started playing an innocent game of Chutes and Ladders, and Natasha and Gamora forgot that it was a board game and not a battlefield, and things had only escalated from there. There was probably still whipped cream on the kitchen ceiling. By the time the game actually ended, it was almost two am, and there was no way Peter was going all the way back to Queens.   
He stretched his arms over his head and glanced at the clock. Nine. It was summer, so he didn’t have school, but he did have an actual internship at Stark Industries now, and it started in half an hour. Peter ran a hand through his hair- the whipped cream seemed to be gone, or at least not noticeable. He made a mental note to ask Mr. Stark why he’d had so many cans in the fridge, and why he was giving people like Gamora and Natasha access to them, and reached over the bed for his prosthetics.  
Except they weren’t there.   
Peter’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t have taken them off anywhere else; he’d remember something like that. So where were they? Trying to keep his panic at bay, he pushed himself off the bed and walked to the door on his hands.  
“Hey!” he called down the hallway. “Has anyone seen my legs? I kind of need them.”  
The door across from him slammed open, revealing a half-asleep Quill. “What’s going on?”  
“My prosthetics are gone.”  
Quill’s expression hardened from confused to angry. “Yeah. Of course they are.”  
“What?”  
Quill stepped out into the hallway. “ROCKET. Get your tree-loving, grenade-addict, limb-stealing racoon ass over here before I have to find you and kick it. I’m sorry, kid. I don’t know why he’s like this.” He ran a hand over his face and watched as Rocket sauntered down the hallway, whistling between sips of coffee.  
“Good morning to you, too, Peter. And Peter. Sorry, should I use your last names? Or Starlord and Spider Man? I don’t know what I’m supposed to call you two.”  
“How about we have a discussion about it after you give this kid his legs back.”  
Rocket took a long drink of coffee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
Peter glared. “I took them off last night. And now they’re not here. I have to be at SI soon, and it’d be really nice if I could walk there.”  
“Hand them over, you GMO trash eater,” Quill added helpfully.  
“Hey, I didn’t come all the way from down the hallway just to be accused of thievery and insulted like this. It could have been anyone. Drax. That Robin Hood guy, Clyde or whatever. That patriotic dude who showed up last night wearing tights. Groot. This is profiling, is what this is.”  
Quill rolled his eyes. “Since I’ve met you, you’ve stolen thirty-four prosthetics. And that’s just the successful attempts. It’s, like… are you addicted to stealing people’s limbs, or something?”  
“Lies.”  
“Four of them were from the same person, Rocket.”  
Rocket snorted. “He woke up, and he was a torso. You have to admit that was funny.”  
“You certainly thought it was. You laughed so hard it blew our cover and someone sprayed weed repellant on Groot. He was sick for two weeks, Rocket. Because you couldn’t control yourself around some goddamn prosthetics.”  
“Um, guys? I still can’t walk.” Peter narrowed his eyes at Rocket.  
“Hey, we’re the same height now. That’s pretty cool.”  
Quill stormed down the hallway toward Rocket’s room. “You’re the same height because you stole half his body, dude. I wish you’d been left on Ego.”  
“Yeah? I wish you’d gotten- wait, you want me dead? I thought we were friends.” Rocket turned to Peter, still balancing on his hands in his doorway, and shrugged. “At least he’s not immortal anymore. Can you imagine if that guy lived forever? The year is, like, seventeen thousand, and he’s still listening to those fucking cassette tapes in his piece-of-crap spaceship.”  
“I heard that!” Quill called from around the corner.  
“Yeah? Good!”  
Peter rolled his eyes and went back into his room, searching the floor for a clean shirt. He wouldn’t be able to reach his closet door without falling over. In his head, he added ‘ask Tony for a raccoon-robber proof lock on his door’ to the mental to-do list. He found a Star Wars t-shirt that was passable and pulled himself onto his bed to change. He had a wheelchair he could use, as a last resort, but only about three of the people he worked with knew at the moment, and he was perfectly happy with that. Besides the occasional “how are you wearing jeans when it’s ninety-five degrees outside are you insane,” no one asked too many questions or treated him any differently. Peter liked that. Even MJ and Ned got a little too protective once in a while.   
Finally, Quill came in holding his prosthetics. “Groot tried to cover for him, can you believe that? Hey, Ranger Rick, don’t drag an impressionable child into a crime like stealing legs from a different impressionable child.”  
“I’m not a child. I’m almost sixteen.”  
“You take him on your vigilante space missions every day, I’m not allowed to pull a harmless prank with him? Also, when did you become his parent? I thought that was my job.”  
Quill grinned. “Are you finally admitting you’re Groot’s mom?”  
“I- NO.”  
Quill winked at Peter and ducked out of his bedroom. As he put on his prosthetics, he could hear them arguing as they walked back to the kitchen.   
“Face it, Rocket. If you weren’t a guardian of the galaxy, you’d be yelling at Groot because he didn’t clean his room before soccer practice.”  
“Who the hell would let a tree onto a kid’s soccer team? And I’m not his mom.”  
“Sure you’re not.”  
“GROOT, AM I YOUR MOM?”  
“I am Groot!”  
“Well, shit, kid, why haven’t you been getting me flowers and gift cards every Mother’s Day? Don’t take Quill’s side on this, you know full well I’m not your parent.”  
“I am Groot.”  
“That’s it, I want gifts to make up for all the missed Mother’s Days and Father’s Days. Like, isn’t there a guy here with a fake arm? Could you get that for me, son?”  
“ROCKET.”  
Peter smiled and stood up, very happy that that was something he could actually do. He walked into the kitchen, where sure enough, there was whipped cream dried on the ceiling. As well as almost every other surface. Gamora was sitting stone-faced at the table, her eyes fixed on the Chutes and Ladders board that everyone had been too scared to put away the night before. Natasha was on the other side of the kitchen. Peter felt like maybe he should be holding his breath. Keeping as quiet as possible, he poured himself a cup of coffee and left.  
“That’s gonna stunt your growth,” he heard Rocket call on his way to the door.  
“One, I’m already half the height I used to be. Two, you’re three feet tall. Maybe.”   
“I am Groot.”  
“Don’t talk to your mother that way. I was taller than you until, like, two months ago.”  
Peter laughed and stepped out into the New York morning, tossing his keys up and watching them fall into his hand again. Mr. Stark had gotten him a car a few weeks ago (and explained to him in detail about how to pass a field sobriety test while blackout drunk, while Dr. Banner gave a speech about never driving drunk over his shoulder). It wasn’t anywhere near as nice as the lineup of sports cars Tony had for himself, but it was good enough that people at school would be jealous. MJ and Ned were already constantly asking for rides. He barely drove anywhere, though. There wasn’t a need when he had a friend who could open up portals anywhere he needed to go, and another guy who could fly, and also was Spider Man. Yeah. Peter had a lot better options than driving. Also, he kind of sucked at it.  
He started the car and sped down the driveway. The radio was blasting some obscure eighties station, which meant Quill had ‘borrowed’ it recently. Maybe he was the one responsible for the whipped cream stash. Peter made a note to ask him later. Someone was to blame for the sixteen and a half cans that had been in the back of the fridge, and whoever it was was also at fault for the reason they were all empty now.   
Peter turned the radio off. Two years ago, if anyone had told him he’d be figuring out which superhero to blame for the superhero whipped cream fight that he was in at the superhero complex last night, he would have said they were insane. Two years ago he was more concerned with passing his next English text than being an Avenger. Two years ago felt like a decade ago when he thought about how much had changed. And he was glad he couldn’t go back. Okay, well, actually he kind of wanted to never have been crushed under that warehouse. That would be good. To not have two hundred percent less leg and fifty percent less lung. But otherwise, nothing. It was what he’d always wanted, after all. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he pulled into the Stark Industries parking lot.   
It wasn’t until he was almost to the front doors that he turned around. Someone- and by someone he meant probably Rocket or Drax- had duct taped an empty whipped cream can to the front of his car, between the headlights. He rolled his eyes and walked back to take it off. Living with the Avengers and company was definitely different from a regular family life, but it still counted as a family. Even if one of those family members was a talking racoon who stole his legs from time to time. And two of them kept everyone up until two playing a board game and fighting to the death. And all of them took turns either stealing or trashing his car. Even the guy who had bought the car for him. Family. It was great.


End file.
